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redwoodwrites · 5 years ago

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Coffee, Quirks, and Tigers

Summary: Ootsuki runs a kirei shop in a popular shopping district, but he mostly keeps to himself. And then Fukuda shows up with his boss, who tells him to stay and pick out something for someone's birthday present. He stays, it's awkward, but apparently not that awkward because Fukuda comes back again. And again. And pretty soon it becomes a weekly Thing for the two of them to go get coffee together. Now if only Suzuki and his henchmen could leave the two of them alone.

A/N: Starring Ootsuki and Fukuda from Mob Psycho 100!! (Two of the guys who helped Shou in the finale of Season 2.) They had basically five seconds of screen time...so I got to make up 99% of their personalities! BWAHAHAHA THE POWAAAAAH!

Ootsuki squinted. He'd been drawing a sketch of two fish swimming through trailing willow leaves. It was a commission for a prestigious high school, but he couldn’t get it right yet.

He sat back and stretched, glancing at his shop. His drawing desk was in the back. Framed kirei hung on the left and right walls, showing lacy outlines of flowers, people, even whole cherry trees. Delicate three-dimensional paper animals hung from the ceiling, and three patterned kimonos were displayed in the window.

Outside, the Tatooin Shopping District was swarming with tourists. Street loudspeakers played a constant pop culture soundtrack barely audible over the roar of people. People came here for the chic cafes, high-end clothing stores, and a few electronic places - he got free cable from the flatscreen TVs displayed across the street. It was usually news stories about heroes, although lately there had been a few missing person cases mixed in. Specialty stores like Ootsuki’s kirei shop didn’t get a lot of customers. That was fine with him. Most of his business came from commissions, anyway. He sighed and turned back to his drawing.

Ding!

The front door opened and a giant strode into his shop, accompanied by a rush of street noise. He had spiky orange hair, electric blue eyes and a blazer swung over his shoulders like a cape.

“Now this is more like it!” he proclaimed.

“Shou, be careful!”

A second man appeared behind the first, following close enough to be his shadow. He was built like a bear, with short black hair and anxiety written all over his face. “Did you bump your shoulder in the doorway? You did, didn't you? Are you alright?”

Shou’s eyes caught Ootsuki and he jumped. “Oi! This your shop?”

“H-hai! Irasshaimase.” He started to bow, realized he was sitting, and scrambled to his feet, but the giant had already turned away.

“Pretty impressive,” he said, inspecting a paper sparrow hanging from the ceiling. “Even got the texture of the feathers in there. Nice.”

“Shou, please!” the other man insisted. “Be careful, you could get a paper cut -”

“Fukuda!”

This time both men jumped. “H-hai!” Fukuda stammered.

Shou jabbed a thumb at a framed kirei piece. “Find me something like this for Mom's birthday. I don't want you back at HQ until you've given it at least two hours of thought – after all, it's the thought that counts!”

“But –”

“Two hours! Countin' on ya!”

Shou waved and slipped out the door faster than Ootsuki could follow, vanishing instantly into the crowd. He glanced over. Fukuda was doing such a perfect impression of a sad puppy that Ootsuki snorted with laughter.

“Oh – er, sorry,” he said, catching himself.

Fukuda sighed. “No, no. I apologize for the disturbance. I tend to get a bit...overprotective...and Shou is my boss. I’m Fukuda Itsuki, I’ll be in your care.”

“Ootsuki Souta,” he said, and repeated the greeting. After that he wasn’t sure what to do. He ran a hand self-consciously over his bangs, glad they were long enough to cover his eyes. “Er, well...would you like help picking something out, or…?”

“Yes please,” Fukuda said. He nodded at the bird Shou had inspected. “I've never been in a shop like this before. What kind of art is this?”

“It's kirei. Most of what I sell involves cut paper. That includes the sculptures, but most of it is two-dimensional.” He stopped there - most people’s eyes glazed over at that point - but Fukuda was looking at him as if genuinely interested. Ootsuki gestured to the framed pieces leaning in neat rows along the walls. “Those are all made with a single sheet of paper each, and a very sharp knife. I make faces, landscapes, animals – there's one I did of paper fans, just for the irony. They're all organized by size and category...”

He led Fukuda on a brief tour of the shop, discussing his favorite pieces and the techniques he’d used to make them. Fukuda was much calmer now that he wasn’t fussing over Shou, and asked questions about the types of paper he used and the tools he worked with. Ootsuki grinned and pushed his bangs back from his eyes. He never got to talk about this in such detail, but Fukuda made it easy. Fukuda made it fun.

They made a full circuit around the shop, ending at the window display. The kimonos were beautiful even from the back. Each of them had been printed in a tiny repeating pattern: a lotus blossom, a seashell, or the kanji for “jewel.”

Fukuda looked at them with obvious admiration. “They’re gorgeous. Although I'm a little surprised to see clothing in a kirei shop.”

“It’s the patterns. I stamped it onto the fabric by hand.”

Fukuda's eyes actually boggled. “That's hand-stamped? I thought that was machinery!”

Ootsuki grinned. “Nope, it’s all me. This one was especially tricky.” He reached for the one with seashells.

“Ah – your hands!”

Ootsuki glanced down. The light from outside caught the sheen of all the tiny, nearly invisible scars covering his fingers and palms. “Oh, that. Well, to get the best cut in a piece of paper, you have to drag the blade toward you. Better control that way. But the knives I use have to be quite sharp, and it took practice learning how to do it.”

“And your palms?”

“Pardon?”

“Knives wouldn’t cut your palms like that, look.” He took Ootsuki’s left hand and gently turned it over. The scars were thicker, darker.

Ootsuki flinched and pulled away. “I don’t like people touching my hands.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. It's just, my quirk is healing, but I can't heal scars...it bothers me when I see wounds that haven't been properly tended.”

“They were tended just fine,” Ootsuki said, a little too sharply. “I just wasn't good at controlling my quirk when I was little. So!” He turned away. “I think that wraps up the tour.”

“Of course. I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time.”

He sounded so sincere about it that Ootsuki softened. “No, it's just that your two hours are almost up,” he said, and realized it was true. How did it go by so fast?

“Then, if it’s alright...could I have that one?” Fukuda asked. He pointed to a piece hanging on the wall, a particularly intricate kirei with cuts so fine you could almost see the texture of the fur.

“You like it?”

Fukuda smiled. “Suzuki-san did always have a fondness for cats.”

Ootsuki sat at his desk again, doodling.

He was done with the fish commission, and now he had nothing to do while he waited to hear back. It didn’t help that his thoughts kept wandering to Fukuda. The visit had been two days ago. Ootsuki was sorry he’d been rude at the end, and it felt worse every time he thought about it. Why did he have to be so - so emo and awkward? He tugged anxiously at his bangs. He could be clever. If Fukuda ever did come back, he’d -

Ding!

“Fukuda!”

“It's good to see you, too,” Fukuda said, grinning, and he realized he'd jumped to his feet.

Ootsuki flushed. “Well, um, yes,” he said. With zero cleverness at all.

Fukuda didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but Shou's mother wanted to commission a piece of her cat. Is that alright? I brought a photo.”

Familiar territory! “Of course, I do commission pieces all the time. Can I see it?”

“Right, here…” Fukuda started digging through the bag slung over his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, I keep everything in here. I don’t even know how old that granola bar is...ah, here we go!”

He held out a photo of a small white cat. Ootsuki moved to take it, and when he did, two coupons for the Golden Bean fanned out from behind it.

“Oh, isn’t this that shop down the street?” Ootsuki asked, glancing up.

He stopped cold. Fukuda’s warm brown skin was suddenly ash-gray, and he was staring at the tickets like they were vipers poised to strike.

“I don’t...remember these,” he whispered.

“It’s okay!” Ootsuki said quickly. He wasn’t sure why the coupons had unsettled Fukuda so deeply, but the look on his face was unbearable. He yanked them out of Fukuda’s grip.

“Wait, wait -”

“They’re just coupons!” Ootsuki said, holding the coupons well out of sight. “Look! I’ll just throw them away - oh.”

“‘Oh’?” Fukuda said, his face practically slate gray. “O-Ootsuki, quickly, those tickets might be from -”

“From ‘Shou’?” Ootsuki asked drily, holding them up. The silvery foil on the back of the coupons was covered in thick red scrawl.

Yo, Ootsuki! Thanks for looking after Fukuda. Take him for a walk, wouldja? Have a cup of coffee, my treat! - Shou

Immediately Fukuda’s shoulders slumped and color flooded into his face. “Oh thank goodness. It’s just Shou.”

Yes, pegging you like the lost puppy you are, Ootsuki thought. Aloud he said, “I guess you’d like to have these back then?”

“They seem to be addressed to you,” Fukuda said. “Would you want to go? I feel really silly for reacting like that, and I’d like to make it up to you. Do you like the Golden Bean?”

Ootsuki shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”

“You’ve nev - you work five minutes away!”

“The streets are crowded,” Ootsuki protested, but it sounded lame even to his own ears.

Fukuda’s lips twitched like he was hiding a smile. “I’m big enough to make a path for us. Please?”

It was that unbearable puppy dog look that did him in. Ootsuki found himself locking up the shop and heading out into the street behind Fukuda. At least he was right - his bulk really did carve an easier path.

The Golden Bean, however, was even worse. It was easily three times as crowded. People kept bumping Ootsuki and hitting his hands and he was about five seconds from bolting, self-conscious anxiety or not.

Fukuda, oblivious, looped an arm through Ootsuki’s and somehow stepped right up to the counter.

“What do you want to order?” Fukuda yelled cheerfully over the noise.

Ootsuki looked at the menu, which was the size of a billboard and crammed with 12-pt font.

“Are you kidding?” he gasped out.

Fukuda grinned, turned to the cashier, and shouted something else. Somehow Fukuda managed to place an order, grab their cups, and find the last table left, in a little corner of the shop where the noise was down to a dull roar.

“I am convinced this is your Quirk,” Ootsuki said, practically collapsing into his chair.

“What, ordering coffee?”

“Finding tables in this madhouse!”

“It comes from having to keep a sharp eye out.” Before Ootsuki could ask what that meant, Fukuda passed him his coffee. “Here, drink. You’re looking a little pale.”

“I’m not used to dealing with people,” he said faintly.

“But you work in one of the busiest streets of the city.”

“Most of the people stay outside my shop. Being near people is one thing, interacting is another. I get nervous when people are really close to me.”

“Oh.” Something in Fukuda’s tone made Ootsuki look up. He was staring at Ootsuki’s hands again, and there was something behind his eyes that made Ootsuki remember how big he was. “Ootsuki, is someone...hurting you?”

“What? No!”

“Because if they are, I’d really like to do something about it.”

“They’re not, no one is, I promise,” Ootsuki said, barely managing to keep his hands above the table. “Look, the scars are my fault. I couldn’t control my quirk when I was younger. I can channel kinetic energy through thin, flexible objects. Plastic works, but paper is best, and school was full of paper. Every time I picked up a piece of homework or a quiz…” He gestured, indicating an explosion. “It made school interesting, I'll say that much.”

Fukuda stared at him. “But you work with paper.”

“I learned to control it.”

“You saw a quirk counselor?”

“Er...no…” He shifted in his seat. “When I was little, we had a neighbor three apartments over who liked origami. He’d make tigers or cranes and blow into them. They’d come to life, just for a day or two, and he’d leave them out for other kids in the complex to play with.”

Fukuda’s face lit up. “That's amazing! So he taught you origami, too?”

Ootsuki fidgeted anxiously with a napkin. “No. I thought it would be fun to blow his tigers up. I'm not like that anymore!” he added quickly. Fukuda’s shock made his guts twist. “I thought choosing not to control my quirk was easier than admitting I couldn’t. I pretended it was funny. So one day I blew his tigers up, and then I turned around and - and saw him standing there. I saw his face. And after that it wasn’t funny anymore.”

“Ootsuki...”

He ducked his head. “I avoided him for months. Then I got it into my head that if I could put the tigers back, everything would be alright. So I got a book on origami and a bunch of paper and practiced. Even with homework. Before I’d moved it around with erasers, but now I actively tried to manage it all the time, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t make the tigers. When I was done, my hands looked like this and I had a dozen or so crappy tigers lined up in the courtyard.”

“And? What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Ootsuki said quietly. “He wasn't there anymore. He moved away. I was a coward for so long that I never got the chance to apologize.”

“And I think a kind person like that would have been happy with the gift you made for him.”

“It wasn't a gift. They weren't even all that good.”

“I beg to differ.”

Fukuda caught Ootsuki's wrist and he looked down, startled. He'd been folding a napkin into a paper tiger without realizing it, and he'd been about to rip it in half.

“It's quite good,” Fukuda said. “And one more thing. I don’t think you’re a coward, Ootsuki.”

“I literally hide behind my bangs,” he said flatly.

“You came to coffee with me,” Fukuda countered.

“That was just because -” He stopped short, flushing. He wasn’t about to mention that obnoxious puppy dog face. Mostly because Fukuda was doing it right now.

“You’re braver than you think you are,” Fukuda said. “And I’m taking this to keep as proof.”

He plucked the tiger from Ootsuki’s hand and tucked it safely into his bag.

Fukuda came back two days later, and again two days after that. He said it was because Shou's mother had more orders, but Ootsuki secretly suspected that Shou himself was responsible. He was probably the littlest bit annoyed with being watched like a hawk for stubbed toes and sent Fukuda off for two straight hours of peace.

Ootsuki didn't mind.

Fukuda, meanwhile, seem to have extended his overprotectiveness to Ootsuki, and was frequently checking to make sure he didn't have any fresh paper cuts, got eight hours of sleep a night, and took breaks from drawing so he wouldn't strain his eyes.

Ootsuki didn't mind that, either.

The two of them took to buying coffee and walking around to look at all the shops. Once in a while Fukuda saw a window display for a fluffy sweater and just had to have it, and Ootsuki bought a new halogen lamp for his desk. Fukuda finally got Ootsuki hooked on pistachio-flavored coffee, which Ootsuki hadn’t even known existed (and wasn’t convinced that it should).

Two weeks into their coffee tradition, Ootsuki was hanging a new sparrow sculpture when he heard the door open behind him.

“You’re early,” he said, turning. Then he stopped short. “What happened?”

Fukuda was standing in the doorway, face pale, hands shaking at his sides, clothes rumpled like he hadn’t slept for days. He was looking around the shop like he didn’t even see it.

Ootsuki jumped off the stepstool and hurried over. “Are you alright? Are you injured anywhere?”

“Huh? No, I...no…”

“You look like hell!”

Fukuda laughed weakly, but it wasn’t a joke, and they both knew it. “Sorry. I’m, uh, I had a rough day. Should we get going?”

“Now? Like this?”

“I really will be fine after some tea. Or something.”

Ootsuki hesitated, thinking. “Alright,” he said slowly. “But it’s getting kind of cool out. Come on back, I need to grab my jacket.”

“Sure.”

Ootsuki headed for the back of the shop - without letting go of Fukuda’s hand. He trailed along after him like an oversized puppy. Ootsuki reached the employee’s door and pushed it open. He even got a few feet inside before Fukuda drew up short.

“I-I’m sorry for intruding,” he stammered. “I didn’t know you lived back here.”

Ootsuki had converted the back room into a one-room apartment. There was a western-style bed on the right, a table in the center, and a kitchenette on the left, with the bathroom door in the back left corner. Most of his expendable income had gone into a TV and game system set up next to the bed. The place was spare but functional.

He shrugged. “My budget’s pretty modest, and anyway I don’t see the point in buying a second place just for a bed and a bad commute.”

Fukuda’s lips twitched. “You do have a point.”

“Sit down anywhere, I’ll just be a second.”

Ootsuki went to the kitchenette and Fukuda sat down at the table. A few copies of Ootsuki’s best works hung on the walls, and Fukuda was looking at the cityscape one with interest. Then he blinked and seemed to come back to himself again. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Ootsuki turned around, a mug in each hand. “Making tea.”

“You didn’t have to,” Fukuda said weakly.

“It’s just instant tea, nothing fancy.”

“We were gonna get coffee.”

“Next time.” He set the mug down. “Sit. Drink. Breathe.”

Fukuda obeyed while Ootsuki grabbed the quilt from his bed. He sat down next to Fukuda so their legs were touching and wrapped the blanket around their shoulders.

“Let me know if this bothers you, but sometimes pressure helps me calm down.”

“I’m the same,” Fukuda murmured. “When it’s someone like you.”

Ootsuki’s face felt as hot as the tea. “Okay. Um. Anime. I mean - let’s put on an anime or something. Or not. Or we can talk if you want. Or not.” Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking.

“Anything is fine.” Fukuda lowered his mug to the table, eyes down. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

Ootsuki rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure I did. You worry a lot about other people, Fukuda, but not enough about yourself.”

Fukuda gave a tiny smile. “You know, in your own way, you're nearly as stubborn as Shou.”

“Your boss?”

“And longtime friend. We met doing underground hero work.”

“Ah,” Ootsuki said. Then the words sank into his brain. “Wait, what? Underground heroes? How is he an underground hero with that bright red hai – I'm sorry did you say you're a hero?!”

“Yes?” Fukuda glanced up, eyes twinkling. “Is it that much of a surprise?”

“I mean – you're so – lost puppy –”

“I'm a what now?”

“Mild-mannered! Is what I meant to say!”

“Yes, I'm a hero,” Fukuda said, grinning. He had absolutely heard the puppy comment. “My healing quirk isn't particularly useful for offense, but it's invaluable as backup for the others in our agency.”

“I can imagine,” Ootsuki managed. Fukuda didn't fit Ootsuki's image of a hero at all. Fukuda wore fluffy sweaters and an open expression and exuded the kind of warm calm people normally associated with a good cup of hot chocolate. Being a “hero” seemed to involve more exaggerated muscle development, primary colors and...teeth?

Fukuda chuckled as if he could read Ootsuki’s thoughts. “That's exactly why I'm so useful as an underground hero. I know how to dress and act a certain way. How to give off a certain impression or persona. If you drop me in the middle of a city anywhere in Japan, I could disappear in an hour and never be found. I mostly work on organizational crimes, but sometimes I get asked to pursue missing person's cases.”

“Missing...but don't kidnapped people usually end up –”

“Yes,” Fukuda said. His voice was low and his shoulders were trembling. Ootsuki wrapped him in a hug.

“It must be hard,” Ootsuki said quietly.

Fukuda leaned into him, eyes cast down. “I can - I can usually find them in time. And heal them. I’m very, very good at both. But Shou - there’s a man we’ve been tracking - you’ve seen the rash of missing people in the news?”

“I think so,” Ootsuki said slowly. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“The man we’re tracking is responsible, and today we found one of his facilities. They’d known we were coming and abandoned the place. But we found evidence of some of the missing people, and the - the Quirk research they were doing -”

His voice broke. Ootsuki rubbed his back in small, slow circles. “I can’t even imagine what it’s that’s like,” Ootsuki said softly. He wished he had something better to say. “I guess this explains why you were so scared when we found Shou’s coupons in your bag.”

Fukuda rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “I’ve been wondering lately if I’m being tracked. One of the man’s top followers is very good at electronic spying. We’re closer to finding them every day, and I think they’re finally feeling the pressure. We’re going to have to face them soon.”

“Shou doesn’t seem like the type of person to lose,” Ootsuki said.

“He’s not. He really doesn’t need my help most of the time. But with the man we’re tracking, he will. Soon. Even then we might not be enough to beat him. I have to make sure he’s at the top of his game. If I don’t, if he’s even a little bit tired, a little bit slow, if I’m not enough, then he might – he might actually –”

Fukuda folded into himself. Ootsuki pulled him gently so that Fukuda was leaning into him, head just below Ootsuki’s chin. He knew there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. For the first time he wished he knew how to use his quirk for something...more. His heart ached.

When Fukuda was calmer, they drank their tea and quietly watched anime movies on Ootsuki’s cell phone. Ootsuki pulled the blanket off his bed and wrapped them up in it, shoulder to shoulder. They stayed like that, pressed together in quiet, comforting warmth, for a long time.

It was two minutes past coffee time.

Ootsuki sat at his desk, trying not to fidget. He glanced out the window. Back to his desk. Back to the window. Then he got up and looked down the street, shoving his face between the kimonos, trying to peer through the crowd. Five minutes past coffee time. Still no Fukuda. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Fukuda picked up on the second ring. “Yes?”

“You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes late,” Fukuda said, and Ootsuki could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m rubbing off on you. You didn’t worry so much last week.”

“Last week I didn’t know that you regularly risk your life for a living,” Ootsuki retorted.

Fukuda laughed. They’d texted a few times since the last time he came over, but it wasn’t the same. Ootsuki was glad to hear him back to his usual self.

“You’re almost here?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m almost there. You can probably see me from your window. Look.”

Ootsuki looked. An arm in a fluffy green sweater sprouted from the crowd three stores down, waving.

“You look like a bean sprout,” Ootsuki told him, just to hear him laugh again. “Alright, alright, I’m hanging up. But you owe me coffee for making me worry.”

“It’s a deal.”

Ootsuki pocketed the phone and realized he was smiling. A new coffee shop had opened next to the Golden Bean. There was a semi-playful war between the two on which was better. Even the music on the street speakers was interrupted with updates on which shop had gotten more likes on Facebrick. Ootsuki and Fukuda both thought it was hilarious.

And Ootsuki wanted to try the new shop. More specifically, he wanted to try it with Fukuda.

His friend’s face finally came into view, swimming toward him in the crowd. Ootsuki’s grin widened and he turned for the door.

Suddenly the street speakers screeched. The sound was so loud Ootsuki felt it in his teeth. He jerked badly and people outside shouted in pain and surprise.

Then the security gates on every shop came slamming down.

“HEY!”

Ootsuki flung himself at his door. The bars were on the outside, but Ootsuki couldn’t even get to them; the door had locked and wouldn’t open. He heard screams and saw that some people had been crushed under the gates and were struggling to get free. The electronic store across the street had a safety gate that swung down like a garage door, and it had someone pinned by her shoulder. Fukuda was already cutting through the fleeing crowd, hand outstretched and glowing. Ootsuki took a shuddering breath. That’s right, Fukuda was a hero, he could help –

“AH-AH-AH,” tutted a voice from the speakers.

The electronics shop exploded. Every single device inside suddenly burst through the windows, walls, and ceiling. Fukuda dove right into the falling shards, shielding the pinned woman. Pipes and cables ripped up from the street. The electronic devices whizzed toward them and the wires and metal wrapped around them, rising up to form a many-tentacled octopus shape. A multitude of cables coiled and writhed ceaselessly around a bulbous conglomerate of tech, studded with cameras that blinked in every direction and crowned with three flat screen TVs. The screens flashed to life, showing a composite view of a pale man in square-framed glasses. .

Fukuda snarled. “Hatori!”

“You really made it too easy to find you,” Hatori sneered. “For an underground hero, it’s surprising that you’d risk falling into a routine.”

Ootsuki sucked in a breath. The electronic spy! Fukuda was right, they’d been watching, they knew he’d been meeting with Ootsuki every week!

Fukuda’s hand plunged into his bag. Immediately Hatori’s cables lashed out, striking Fukuda’s chest so hard Ootsuki could hear an audible crack from across the street. He flew through the air until he hit a telephone pole and the cables immediately caught him, ripping his bag from his shoulder and lifting him into the air.

“Fukuda!” Ootsuki slams his palms against the glass, desperate. Kinetic energy vibrated painfully through his wrists and the glass buzzed but didn’t break. No, no, the villain had him, it was going to kill him!

He backed up and a hanging sculpture hit his head. All that paper – but he wasn’t a hero, he had to call the police, had to get help –

“Rats are really more trouble than they’re worth to keep around,” Hatori said, smirking. Fukuda gave an airless scream, and Ootsuki heard a terrible, organic pop.

The cables were squeezing.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

He wasn’t sure how it had happened. He’d been standing in his shop, frozen in horror, and then he was outside and his arm was moving in slow-motion and the paper fan he was holding cut clean through the cables holding Fukuda.

Fukuda hit the ground with a gasp, still wrapped in the metal coils, but his eyes were on something past Ootsuki. Immediately he turned and swung the paper. Again time skipped and there were stripped wires and computer bits littering the street in a circular blast radius, and Hatori’s metal octopus was hissing and stitching three of its limbs back together with angry clanks.

“Not another one!” Hatori snapped, face red. “Why – are – there – heroes – everywhere?!”

“Ootsuki!” Fukuda gasped.

Cables reared up behind the octopus and struck like snakes. Ootsuki tried to dodge but his legs were frozen. Fukuda tackled him and they went rolling seconds before electrified prongs gored them to the street. Fukuda grabbed a metal trash can and flung it hard. Ootsuki winced when he heard the noise Fukuda’s chest made, but the trash can slammed down on the prongs with extra force and it lodged in the asphalt. The two of them ducked into a narrow alley.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?!” Hatori demanded.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, my body just moved! What do we do?!”

“I need my bag, you stay here!”

“Somehow I don’t think he’ll let me!”

“Correct!”

Ootsuki shrieked and flung his arm up right before a huge muscled octopus limb came sweeping down on them. The blast broke it in two and they darted out of the alley. Fukuda grabbed a loose bit of the broken limb and jammed it into another tentacle as they ran, forcing it back. Ootsuki sent two more blasts at the tentacles darting into Fukuda’s blind spots and they sprinted out of range.

Hatori snarled. “Hold still already!”

“No thanks!”

The street was almost empty of shoppers except for the few who had been pinned or those trying to help them. Ootsuki saw the moment Hatori caught sight of two teenagers wedged in a clothing shop entrance. Something blazed in his chest and he slammed the fan down through the air, again and again, actually forcing Hatori back.

“Agh! Little freak!”

“Ootsuki, your hands!”

He glanced down. He saw the red dripping down his fingers and wrist but couldn’t feel the pain or even the wetness.

“Forget it, get the bag!”

“But – you – fine, just don’t die!” He turned and sprinted down the street, where his bag was sticking out from under someone’s discarded shopping bag. Ootsuki darted forward, scooped a handful of receipts off the ground and hurled them. The paper burst into confetti and was immediately attracted by the static cling of the TVs, blocking out all the video cameras facing their way. Hatori shouted with rage.

Ootsuki stumbled back, gasping. He was starting to feel the pain now. His hands were shaking and blood dripped from his skin, under his fingernails. He knew he’d cracked his bones because he suddenly knew exactly where they were in both hands.

He turned and sprinted for Fukuda, who was desperately hunting through his bag.

“Where is it, where is it, where is it,” he muttered.

“What are you looking for?”

“The EMP gun. Small, black, yellow tape – I know I packed it, I definitely grabbed it off the counter –”

“THERE YOU ARE!”

Something sharp and hard slammed into the side of Ootsuki’s head. He hit the ground. The drone that had hit him banked hard and circled, two more joining it. Ootsuki realized his hands were empty and rolled away before their blades could slice his arms. Fukuda had done the same, but his broken ribs had hampered his movement and a lucky hit had knocked him flat. Immediately a cable burst out of the ground and bound him tight.

Ootsuki’s hand plunged into Fukuda’s bag and pulled out what he’d hoped he would find - his little leatherbound book. He tore out a dozen pages and struck, kinetic energy blasting the drones away.

He’d forgotten the octopus, though, and just as he made to cut Fukuda loose a cable came out of nowhere and slammed him in the stomach.

He lost time in a daze of gray and yellow pain until sharp hit his shoulder and he fell to his knees with a cry. His vision slowly cleared.

The drone that had been aiming for his shoulder had switched off at the last second and now lay cracked and silent on the ground. The other drones hit the ground beside him, and the cable that had been whipping out to grab him suddenly collapsed on the asphalt, limp, live wires still sparking at its tip.

Fukuda was standing in front of him, a small, buzzing gadget the size of a cell phone in his raised fist.

Hatori’s octopus spasmed and flailed. Chunks of machinery were already falling off. For a second Hatori looked livid, but then his face twisted in a vicious sneer and an octopus leg sliced clean through the whole front wall of a restaurant, peeling it away from the building like a slice of cake. The people inside screamed. Ootsuki readied his fan, but apparently that had been the most Hatori could do. The TV screens distorted to static and went black. With a final, ear-splitting shriek of tearing metal, the octopus slumped over, dead.

Ootsuki hadn’t realized he was about to join it until Fukuda grabbed his shoulder to keep him upright. The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds, breathing hard.

“You,” Ootsuki said finally, “are going to owe me so many coffees after this.”

“You can have them after I murder you for jumping into the line of fire,” Fukuda said. But there wasn’t any venom in his voice, and his eyes had the puppy dog look cranked up to eleven. “What were you even thinking?! You have zero battle experience, and that guy was - villains aren’t a video game, Ootsuki! He would have actually murdered you!”

He ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t - don’t apologize, just -”

“Hero-san!” called a voice. It was one of the teenagers Hatori had almost attacked. They were in the store right next to the restaurant, and it looked like he’d managed to squeeze himself out, but his companion had a thick river of blood running down their face that Ootsuki hadn’t noticed before. “Hero-san, I - please help him - ”

“Coming,” Fukuda called immediately. “And stay put, Ootsuki, you’re next.”

“Not going anywhere ‘till I get my coffee.”

Fukuda shot him a look, part concern, part exasperation, then turned to help the teenager.

Ootsuki leaned on a trashcan, catching his breath. His hands hurt. He was trying to avoid looking at them because he was pretty sure they were fractured and he’d pass out if he saw it.

It had felt...strange, to be out on the battlefield like that. Not natural, not exactly, but like he had fit perfectly into place. As if the universe had simply been waiting for him to do it and the response was simply, “Of course.”

Shock gave people such weird thoughts. He shook his head and looked around. Little shreds of torn paper drifted through the air, like scattered snowfall. Bits of computer modems and gaming consoles covered the street, torn open, their silicon circuits glittering in the sun. The security gates had retracted. Some of the trapped shoppers were cautiously poking their heads out of the buildings, checking that it was safe. It wasn’t; there were a lot of live wires sticking out of the ground and the octopus carcass, throwing sparks.

It didn’t smell all that great, either. His senses were still sharp from all the adrenaline pouring through him. He could smell the burned plastic from the machines and the ozone of the sparking wires. He could even smell something odd from the restaurant Hatori had sliced open. Something burning?

He looked closer. A dark shape was sticking out of the wall. It looked like a pipe with a little yellow sticker on it.

Gas.

He saw everything in perfect clarity. The brilliance of the sky, so bright blue it looked painted by a child. The shadow of Fukuda’s back, the exact way his head turned when he smelled it too. The hot metal of the trash can under Ootsuki’s broken fingers. And floating gently past, torn free from that little book by the explosions, a napkin folded like a tiger.

He grabbed it and slashed with everything he had.

The blast he made created a huge vacuum down the middle of the street, sucking away the explosion and heat and gas. Hot blades drove up the bones in Ootsuki’s arms, splitting them in half. Blazing pain seared his brain. Sound warped and distorted like it was coming from underwater. He thought he heard someone screaming, realized it was himself.

He was on the ground. His arms were on fire. They had to be on fire. They hurt so badly. Shadows were moving over him. One of them reached out to him, familiar, calling his name, but before he could answer more shadows came down like a curtain and he sank into the heavy black.

Ootsuki woke up slowly. He was lying on a bed that crinkled loudly whenever he existed, and the ceiling was styrofoam-white. The smell of rubber and cleaner filled his nostrils. A hospital.

“I guess it’s nice that I survived,” he mused aloud.

“Gee, you think?”

“Fukuda!”

He bolted upright. Fukuda was sitting on a chair next to him, a book on his lap. He smiled and put a warm hand on Ootsuki’s arm. “Relax, the doctors saw you but you’re still going to be pretty tired.”

“You’re okay!”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, but how are your hands?”

“My - oh…”

He held them up. The last thing he remembered, they were bleeding like crazy and felt like he’d fractured every bone in his fingers. Now they looked perfectly fine. In fact…

“No scars? They’re gone?”

Fukuda looked apologetic. “You, er. Sort of blasted most of your skin off. So when I healed it, all the skin grew back more or less uniform. I hope you don’t mind. We’re mostly here because it’s standard procedure to bring someone to the hospital just in case there’s something a field medic missed.”

“But you’re okay?” Ootsuki asked again, searching his face. “Last time I saw you, you were covered in blood and I think your rib had broken.”

He grimaced. “Ribs, plural. But I promise I’m okay. I just - the way you nearly got killed - ” He broke off, shaking his head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I...I guess so?” He looked around, trying to distract himself. It wasn’t just a hospital room, it was a private room, with a flatscreen TV, a vase of fresh flowers, and a window with a panoramic view of the city. “I can’t afford all this.”

“Don’t worry, heroes get free private rooms.”

“I��m not a hero.”

“I don’t see why not,” said a voice from the door. They looked up as Shou phased through the doorway, a tray of hospital goop in his hands. “Whoops, almost lost the Jell-O. I pulled a few strings and got you a temporary hero’s license about thirty minutes after the whole Hatori thing. So technically you’re a hero for the next three months. Welcome to my agency.”

“I-I’m not a hero!”

Shou raised an eyebrow. “Again, I don’t see why not. How do you feel? I’m not asking about your physical state. Do you feel horrified, apathetic, jittery - or do you feel like you’re ready to do it all over again?”

Ootsuki blinked a few times. “The second one, I guess. How did you…?”

He nodded. “I saw the fight. You got thrashed because you’re a total noob, but you have good reflexes and use your quirk in creative ways. My agency could use you. And Fukuda’s obsessed with you now and not me, which is a plus.”

“Shou!” Fukuda protested. “I’m not obsessed with him -”

“You use the first sweater he ever bought you for ‘emergency hugs’ and set his picture as the background on your phone. Besides,” Shou continued cheerfully over Fukuda’s sputtering, “Hero work pays well. Unless you have another source of income I don’t know about, because your shop is basically gravel.”

“What?!”

He leaped for the TV remote and flipped channels frantically. He found the evening news and, there in the background, was his shop - or rather, a lot of vacant air and broken plaster where his shop used to be. He could still see a few strips of paper fluttering through the air.

“Oh, no no no no no,” he moaned. “Everything I owned was in that shop!”

“Everything?” Shou asked curiously.

“He lived in the storeroom at the back,” Fukuda explained.

Ootsuki dragged a hand down his face. “I have a little money saved up, but I’ll need that for food and inventory until my insurance kicks in.”

“I have an extra bedroom,” Fukuda said. “I mean - it could be only temporary, if you like. And only if you’re comfortable with it. I have about three bonuses I haven’t even used yet, we could buy furniture or paper or anything you’d need.”

Shou made a muffled-sounding squeak.

“What,” Fukuda said flatly.

“You two are actually sharing an apartment?” Shou asked.

Ootsuki turned red. “I - I guess you could say that? We never really - I

Shou was grinning like a cat that had drunk half the cream and intentionally spilled the rest. “So, to be clear. You met by chance, had a coffee shop AU side story, fought a villain, and then…”

“Don’t you dare,” Fukuda warned.

Shou was grinning from ear to ear.

“And then they were roommates,” he whispered.

Then he phased through the door, laughing, dodging pillows from two very red-faced heroes.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #ootsuki #fukuda #rarepair #boku no hero academia au #bnha au #my hero academia au #hatori makes a brief cameo #shou #shou is also in here #queerplatonic

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